The Ground Beneath My Feet
The morning light was merciless. It streaked through the cracks of my curtains like it had something to prove, highlighting every speck of dust dancing in the air of my childhood bedroom.
My stomach twisted before I even opened my eyes, a familiar, violent rebellion that had become my new alarm clock.
By the time I stumbled down the hall and into the bathroom, I was already gagging, my vision tunneling.
I gripped the cold porcelain edge of the sink, then dropped to my knees beside the toilet, my whole body shaking as I retched until my throat burned and my ribs ached.
Tears stung my eyes, sweat clung to my hairline, and I hated myself.
I hated the weakness. I hated the city. I hated the fact that I was twenty-five and broken.
I didn't hear him at first. Not over the sound of my own ragged breathing and the blood rushing in my ears. Not until his voice cut through the sound of me breaking.
"Aubrey..."
I froze, a jolt of pure adrenaline hitting my system. I tried to pull myself together, to scramble away, but I didn't have the strength. Then his hand was there—large, warm, and impossibly steady against my back.
Before I could even gasp out a protest, Nick knelt behind me in the cramped space of the bathroom.
He didn't look away. He didn't look disgusted. His palm gently gathered my hair, holding it back from my face, while his other hand rubbed slow, grounding circles between my shoulder blades.
"Breathe, baby girl," he murmured. His voice was a low, vibrating rumble, too gentle for a man who was supposed to be a hardened mechanic, too tender for a man who was supposed to be off-limits. "Just breathe through it. I've got you."
My chest heaved, another wave of nausea hitting, and he didn't flinch. He didn't move an inch. He just stayed right there in the trenches with me, holding me together when I felt like I might actually come apart at the seams.
When the wave finally passed, leaving me hollow and shivering, I sagged against the cool tile wall. I wiped at my damp face with the back of my hand, feeling the grit of my own exhaustion. Nick reached for a washcloth, wetting it under the tap before wringing it out and pressing it into my hands.
His gaze searched mine, quiet but unwavering, stripping away every lie I'd ever told myself.
"Why are you doing this?" My voice cracked, barely a whisper in the small room. "We said we'd stop, Nick. You said it yourself—it couldn't happen again. It's too messy. It's too much."
His jaw tightened, a muscle leaping in his cheek, but his hand lingered at the curve of my shoulder, steady and unrelenting.
"I know what we said. I know what the smart thing to do is.
" His eyes burned into mine, fierce and unflinching.
"But I can't stop. I tried, Aubrey. I spent all night trying to talk myself out of coming over here. I can't."
My throat closed up, the air in the bathroom suddenly feeling thick and charged. "Nick—"
"I'm already in too deep," he said, his voice rougher now, more jagged. "I want you. I want this baby. I want both of you, whether I have the right to or not."
Tears spilled hot and fast down my cheeks before I could stop them. I shook my head, the words tearing out of me because the truth was too painful to hold. "But it's not your baby, Nick. It's a reminder of everything I lost. It's... it's Brandon's."
He leaned in closer, the scent of cedar and motor oil enveloping me.
His hand moved to the side of my face, his thumb catching a tear before it could fall.
"Doesn't matter. You think I care about that?
You think I don't know whose blood it is?
" The fierceness in his voice stole my breath.
"I don't give a damn about Brandon. He gave up his right to be anything to you the second he touched Chloe.
He's a ghost, Aubrey. I'm the man standing in front of you. "
I turned my face away, my chest heaving, because if I let myself believe him—if I actually let myself lean into that kind of devotion—I knew I'd fall apart completely and never find my way back.
"Nick, you can't just say things like that. You don't know what you're asking. This isn't simple. It's not a car you can just fix in a weekend. It's a life. It's a scandal. It's Anthony." My voice broke. "It's not fair to you to take on my wreckage."
He caught my chin gently with his fingers, coaxing me to meet his eyes again. "Maybe it's not fair. Maybe it's the most reckless thing I've ever done. But it's real. And I'm not walking away from you, Aubrey. Not now. Not when you need someone to hold the line."
The words settled heavy in my chest, twisting something deep inside me that had been frozen for weeks. I wanted to push him back, to remind him of all the reasons this was wrong, to protect him from the mess of my life.
But the truth was, I needed him. God help me, I needed the weight of him. I needed the way he looked at me like I wasn't a mistake.
For the first time in weeks, the suffocating fear didn't feel quite so heavy. I let myself lean into him, just for a moment, just long enough to feel the incredible strength of his arms as they wrapped around me, anchoring me to something solid and sure.
Maybe it wasn't simple. Maybe it was going to burn everything down. But as I buried my face in his neck, I knew it was the only thing that felt like the truth.